A Chance Meeting
by NightmareTroubador
Summary: Two lone figures lost in time.  A chance encounter. Non-yaoi


**A Chance Meeting**

Disclaimer: Logically not mine.

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><p>The city lights danced and sparkled in the night, and even though the skies remained calm, one could feel the anticipation in the air. It sang and buzzed like electricity, snapping as Duelists gathered and prepared for the big tournament that would occur tomorrow. Even the most ignorant person of this game could feel the tension, so thick it was almost suffocating.<p>

But amidst the roaring traffic and the late night wanders, a lone museum sat quietly nestled among the towering skyscrapers, sitting calmly like a meditating sage. The doors were carefully locked and guarded, hiding the ancient secrets and treasures within.

But despite all the careful precautions taken on account of the arrival of Miss Ishtar, one figure has slipped in unnoticed. If one were to watch closely enough, they may have noticed the briefest of white flashes around the corner, like a vanishing cape.

He made his way silently to the basement of the museum, never pausing to admire the beautiful and almost certainly ancient pottery, gems and other rare finds. His footsteps no more loud than a feather dropping on snow and the surveillance cameras were as blind as a newborn pup to the dark skinned figure.

He was all the security that was needed for this one room; it was his duty to guard its contents even to his own destruction. But when he came to observe all that lay within, his cold, dying heart surely had not expected as surprise such as this…

Expressionless blue eyes lined with kohl stared at the figure in the coffin, desperately trying to say that the sight before them was nothing more than a fevered dream, a nightmare…

The coffin itself was hardly extraordinary. It did not even carry the sacred spells to ensure one's safe passage through the gates of the underworld. It was bare and the only indication it was even important was the quality with which it had been constructed. The tomb it was found also served as a clue, but within the stark white modern room it looked no more real than a cheap pawn store prop.

He had come only to inspect and protect the room, which he sensed immediately contained something vital to his Pharaoh, the god on earth he served. It was his duty to protect that which was important to destinies fulfillment, things that Pharaoh would use to recover what he sacrificed.

It was just he never expected to see_ him_ again. He could've sworn he was dreaming, if he were alive enough to dream. However he had lost his body long ago, a wiling sacrifice to his King, and fellow priests, who were also his friends. He was nothing more than a ghost, a phantom bound to earth by the solid gold Ankh that hung from his neck.

His eyes scanned the mummy, making sure this was not some illusion, or cruel trick being played upon him. His eyes trailed the long tangled mass of brilliant white hair that poured forth from the rotting skull, the mouth stretched not in the usual inane skeletal grin, but in a roaring scream of defiance and hatred.

No wonder he was such a disturbing intrigue to the Egyptologists.

Even his clothes were strange and unique. Black, thick armor covered his body completely, complete with a cape flowing down his back. The Eye of Horus blazed from his chest, a symbol of power and protection. Such an outfit was such a stark contrast to the soft creams and gentle blues, purples and greens the world was used to.

But to be honest, neither he nor the inert figure were exactly normal by society's standards, past or present. He should leave; he has other pieces to move other strings to pull…

Instead he simply stands and stares as the memories rise in his mind, like ibis disturbed from their wade in the great river. He remembers back far back when he first met the man. A kind elderly figure, with the strength of a bull and all the sharp eyes of the god Sutekh, for which he was a servant. He was stern and unbending in the rules of the sacred Priesthood, a great teacher and wielder of incredible heka.

After all if he was not these things how could he control the great Eye, with sight of the gods that could pierce the hearts of men? He was never overly cruel either, extending mercy to the criminals that they had purified in many trials. He was the brother of the Justified Wesir-Akhmenkanen, the former living god! Surely such a wise and merciful man with the blood of gods flowing in his veins would always uphold Maat and fight the evils of the world.

Really though, some of those things should've also warranted caution. As a servant of Sutkeh and the Per-aai's brother, he paralleled the myth of Sutekh and Wesir perfectly. Such a kind and humble servant, so loyal to his God on Earth yet festering with jealousy and greed, like a cankerous tumor.

He was like a rotting fruit, the outside still unblemished and almost crisp. But the inside was worm ridden and putrefied to the very core. So that when the chance came he betrayed the living Horus and embraced the enemy of Ra and all his vile powers, almost condemning the world to Eternal night.

The man clenches his fists in self-directed anger. How could he be so blind? He the Guardian of the Sacred Ankh, the Key of God that allowed him to see all the secrets of the soul, never once sensed the darkness brooding underneath. Never mind the Items were not permitted to be used on other bearers.

This failure was one burden he had carried over the millennia, weighing him down like rusty chains. Over and over again his mind replayed the events that led to his death and the deaths of so many others, and his three thousand year solitude. At times it left him mentally exhausted, like a hamster running on its wheel. No matter how many times he tired, he came up empty handed.

He closes his blank eyes and tried to calm himself, force his hands to unclench as anger coursed through him like poison. It wouldn't do any good now. What's done is done, is that not the saying now?

He looks one final time at the man who caused so much suffering, created the very item he was now bound to, betrayed the God king he served and make a deal with the devil. Was he Angry at this man? Was their hate? It was not unjustified, for despite all the man's good intentions his actions had brought nothing good.

But even as he gazed on least time at the disfigured corpse before him, he felt the smallest pang of pity. Maybe there was still hope for the elder. Perhaps they could all look forward to eternal rest in the blessed field that made up the kingdom of Wesir. Perhaps the evil could be cleansed from his soul, like the evil kas pulled from the sinners in their millennium trials.

The stranger turned, his cape blowing in an unseen breeze as he left the room. It would be important later, but for now there was a tournament to observe. He walked silently from the room and disappeared as mysteriously as he had arrived, not even the dust was disturbed.

But the same other worldly breeze seemed to return, and an old voice could be head crying among the dusty relics…

"_Till we meet again, old friend."_

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><p>Fin.<p> 


End file.
